


Red Signal

by shella688



Series: fast-travel across the atlantic with this 1 weird tip [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: (ladybirds specifically), Apocalypse, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Insects, Mild Gore, Written Like a Night Vale Episode, spoilers for mag160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shella688/pseuds/shella688
Summary: Exciting developments in Night Vale's music scene! Plus, a look at Traffic.(and, elsewhere, the doors are opening)
Relationships: Cecil Palmer & the people he cares about!
Series: fast-travel across the atlantic with this 1 weird tip [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540597
Comments: 25
Kudos: 202





	Red Signal

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to [this](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=OPDDFdyKOgU) song
> 
> Weather: [Find Me In Hell, by Jessica Law](https://open.spotify.com/track/6zZsHHXwSBdSArcVhAuIzV?si=IXqySGJ_RU-BYYtR1KAzVQ)

Vigilo. Audio. Supervenio. _Vigilo. Audio. Supervenio._ **_Vigilo. Audio. Supervenio._**

Welcome, to Night Vale.

* * *

Exciting news for all the music fans out there Night Vale! That's right: Grifter's Bone are coming back! As you may remember, their first gig a few months ago was a sell-out success. If you didn't get chance to see them then, now's your chance.

I've got some reviews here, in case you're unsure:  
"They've created something that is heart-rending, gut-wrenching, and eyeball-biting all at the same time," says Larry Leroy out on the edge of town.  
"Redefines what we call music!" screams Intern Lissa, from box they've been hiding in ever since the gig.  
"Ehhhh it's not _bad_ ," shrugs Charlie Bayer, weekday shift manager down at the Ralph's. "It's just not my genre, you know?" he continues. He doesn't want to _stop_ anyone from going, not if they really want to. It just wasn't his thing, you know?

And if you're still not convinced, there's plenty more rave reviews out there. No- wait, sorry: that's raving review _ers_. We do not want to mix that up!

In other news... Carlos and I are going on a date tonight!

I know, I know. You're not listening to this show to hear about my relationship. But listeners, I am just so excited!

See, Carlos has been very busy with all his science recently. I'm not sure what he's doing, but I support it nonetheless. It may have been to do with tables moving of their own accord, although I would not wish to be quoted on that as I don't want to unwillingly misinform the Night Vale public. Willingly misinforming them at the request of a Vague Yet Menacing Government Agency is just part of my day job, of course.

Anyway - I'm finally getting to spend some time with him! We're going to go have a nice meal at Big Rico's - after all, no-one does a slice like Big Rico's. No-one.

Then, who knows? Maybe we'll walk around our little town, maybe we'll sit beneath a starry sky and be consumed by existential dread without cease or respite. And maybe, if I'm very lucky, we'll-

 _Ugh_ sorry, listeners. Station Management is making all these menacingly meaty murmurs outside my door. You don't fool me, I know your game! Okay _fine_. I'll stop talking about Carlos - I _guess_. Since you're going to be like _that_.

Up soon, so-called "news" that's almost certainly less interesting than my date tonight. Before that, Traffic.

* * *

Imagine a boy on a dusty desert road. His feet stamp the earth in a steady beat, keeping time to a drum that doesn't exist. As you imagine him, he imagines himself, elsewhere, dancing in a darkened music hall filled with the song of a calliope organ. Surrounding him are tall, faceless figures that gaze at him with no eyes and laugh out of no mouths.

"Dance," they sing to him. "Dance, for there is strange music."

And dance he does, whirling around these almost-humans. They are wrong, all this is _wrong_ , and yet he doesn't care. He merely laughs, for there is strange music.

But do not forget all this is imagined. The hall is not real, the figures are not real. The boy on his dusty road is not real.

All that is real is the sound of a distant calliope organ, drawing ever closer.

This has been: Traffic.

* * *

I'm still not allowed to talk about my date tonight on pain of more meaty murmuring so let's go to the next best thing - Night Vale's music scene!

Tickets are on sale now for the Grifter's Bone show. Better be quick Night Vale - they are selling out fast! Michelle Nguyen, owner of Dark Owl Records, has been observed stockpiling tickets in the back room. She claims this is because she likes the band, and if other people start listening to them then she will be forced to stop.

"Just - forget about this band! Forget you ever heard of them!" she has been hissing at visitors to the shop, throwing CDs and cardboard boxes at them.

So if you want to go, be sure to get your tickets quick. You can buy them in the usual way: by standing on your porch and yodeling as loud as you can. If your purchase was successful, the tickets should be posted through your door the following day.

Some of you have been asking questions about the upcoming gig. And, as usual, some of you have been asking unrelated questions, but we'll get to those later in the show.

For example: where is it at? When is it at? Who even are these Grifter's Bone?

These are all very good questions! Great work everyone on asking such interesting questions. We really are a town of many talents.

Well - that's it on the music front. Hmm... what other news is there, except the concert or my date? I refuse to believe there is any. Oh! Maybe someone's texted me something. Let's see...

This one's from Steve Carlsberg - hey there Steve. He says Janice has just received her Identity Theft badge from the Night Vale Girl Scouts. Aw, well done Janice! I know how hard you worked for that.

Oh, and there's a message from Jon too - hey there Jon. He says-

Uh, listeners he says: "look outside". He says... "I'm sorry".

I do not know what he has to be sorry for. I am looking out of the window right now, looking up at the sky and-

Oh my gods, listeners. Oh my gods who crawl and choke and blind and fall - who twist and leave and hide and weave, burn and hunt and rip and lead and _die_ listeners.

I looked at the sky and _it looked back_.

Night Vale - my Night Vale, _our_ Night Vale - I give you now, as I will always give you, until I cannot give anyone anything, anymore:

The Weather.

* * *

It is still there...

The Weather is over and it is still there, listeners. I do not know what this means for us. I have tried to contact Jon, but he has not responded. Maybe he never will. Maybe this isn't the sort of thing you _can_ respond to; not with this language that cannot even begin to describe what we did not even know to be afraid of.

But I will try. For you all - for Jon, for Martin, I will try,

Please, Night Vale, if you see anything, tell me. I- I am not in a position to go see for myself. Outside my door is, I presume, still Station Management. It is laughing now - a wet, meaty sound.

Ugh, I have got your point already! I haven't mentioned the name of my husband, who I sincerely hope is safe and doing okay, _once_ since the Weather! Not even now! Honestly, some people just have no respect.

Reports are coming in of _things_ , listeners, and they are everywhere. Areas of the Barista District have been plunged into a darkness through which no light can break. A hole has opened out on the edge of town, singing of the weight of eternity, of the sweet finality in the earth's heavy embrace.

And- oh no. The City Council has raised the Worm Threat Meter to **Worms.** \- written all in bold with both a capital W and a full stop. This is the highest it has been since the Worms!! incident - that is, worms with a capital W and two exclamation marks - five years ago. Stay safe out there everyone.

Oh, one moment-

Night Vale I have just received a text from Tamika Flynn - hey there Tamika. It is a photo of her, with the message " **Rise up** ". She is stood triumphantly, bloody pipe in hand, over the body of...

Of...

Perhaps it was once human, a person, even. But now ladybirds swarm over exposed skin - skin that is long dead although that does not fit with how we have experienced these events. They are bright, bright red; in some places it is hard to see where the insects end and the blood begins. This corpse, it is only a hive. Only a carrier for a corruption that hollowed out a some _one_ and left behind this some _thing_.

And now, it is not even that. Because Tamika - brave Tamika, who took on StrexCorp, the middle school PTA and even a Librarian - fought it and she _won_ , listeners. _She won._

So let her give you hope. Let her inspire you to rise up and defend this little town we call home. Grab your bloody pipes, Night Vale. Grab your corkscrews and your shotguns and your ritualistic obsidian knives because we will _not_ let these things defeat us.

This is our town, Night Vale. _Our_ desert community, where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and the mysterious Watcher in the sky will _not_ beat us down.

Up next: who knows? Not me, certainly. But I have you, Night Vale, and you, Night Vale, have my disembodied voice on the air and, most of all, we have each other. So let it come - all of whatever 'it' may be. We're not scared.

Goodnight, Night Vale.

Goodnight.

**Author's Note:**

> Today's quote: A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. I'm no economist but this seems an unfair bargaining system
> 
> Shout at me on tumblr! [regicidal-defenestration](https://regicidal-defenestration.tumblr.com/)


End file.
